


Kitchenette Crush

by SunlitGarden



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Betty Cooper has needs, Bonding, Demisexual Jughead Jones, Demisexuality, Eventual Pining Jughead Jones, Eventual Smut, F/M, Meet-Cute, Pining Betty Cooper, Pizza, Sexuality Crisis, Strangers to Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2019-12-18 14:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18251387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitGarden/pseuds/SunlitGarden
Summary: Betty's trying to build a solid foundation to start her college career. Friends. Food. Romance?Jughead loves pizza, and he likes Betty, but he's never really considered putting romance on the menu until he's sampled her particular brand of friendship and bonding.





	1. Pizza

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, bonding over food is amazing. Secondly, I love Bughead. Thirdly, please keep in mind there's a huge spectrum of sexuality and the most accurate category this Jug identifies in is demisexuality. It'll be explained later, but if you have any questions feel free to comment or message me ^-^
> 
> [minor spoiler //] Just to keep y'all in the know, Betty eventually goes go on one super casual "date" that is not with Jug, but obviously doesn't go very far because her heart is elsewhere *cough* [ // end minor spoiler]
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU! I recommend having some snacks handy because there's a lotta food in this one. Yum~

“You can be anyone you want to be,” Betty reminds herself, standing in front of the mirror. She looks a little tanner than usual from the summer, but otherwise she’s ever the same, trying to decide which photos to pin up and which to put in her box.

 

Evelyn, her new roommate, reenters after a disturbingly short goodbye to her bohemian family. “There’s a mixer tonight. Would you like to go together?” The girl’s unassuming voice, slightly vacant expression, and astonishingly few personal effects leaves Betty feeling inadequate. Like there’s a lecture about wastefulness and joy on the horizon.

 

Betty’s fingers nearly crease the photo of her and Kevin in a silly, dramatic dip at Homecoming. “I’m not sure yet.”

 

“Oh, Betty, you don’t want to detract from the dorm culture. It’s good to understand the community we’re to thrive in and be a part of, don’t you think?”

 

“Uh, yeah.” Realizing her annoyance is probably showing itself a little _too_ plainly, Betty rearranges her expression into something familiar like fake pleasantry. “It’s always good to make new friends.”

 

“Mm.” Evelyn nods, satisfied by the answer. “Sometimes,” she starts, noting the photographs, “It’s good to let go of the past.”

 

Betty’s muscles tense, but she manages a smile. “Thank you. I’ll remember that.”

 

As Betty continues to unpack, she’s not exactly sure whom she’d _like_ to meet. She’s been reading and writing all of her life. A world full of wild and wonderful, heart-wrenching characters that have filled in where her passionately ambitious family won’t interfere, can’t say they’re not good enough ( _she’s not good enough_ ) because they’re not real.

 

Maybe she won’t meet anyone. But it will be nice to make friends. Or at least…find something familiar.

 

~~~

 

She’s too nervous to go down to the cafeteria by herself at such a bizarre hour, so she sneaks down to the tiny dorm kitchenette occupied by a guy who looks like a coffee shop dreamboat. Beanie. Impressive blue eyes. Lean muscles. A thick swoop of dark hair.

 

 _Oh god_ , she realizes. She’s actually going to have to be dolled up _all the time_ now. If she can meet cute boys making pizza in the kitchenette, she probably shouldn’t be wandering around without a bra or in those high-necked shirts that her mother says aren’t flattering for her waist. And she needs makeup.

 

 _Shit_.

 

“I don’t bite. Unless you’re made of pizza,” he offers, a lopsided smile gracing his face.

 

_Wow. Cute._

 

But he’s not hitting on her. Obviously. There’s an actual pizza in the oven.

 

“Did you miss meal hours too?”

 

“Me? No,” he scoffs, edging back so she can squeeze through, her arms covering her comfy t-shirt so she can quickly set up her pan and get her “easy” pre-made meal cooking. “This is second dinner. Really, it’s more of a snack.”

 

“A whole pizza’s a snack?”

 

“Growing boy.” He playfully waggles his eyebrows, turning from her to watch his pizza cook.

 

She likes him, she thinks. As stupid as it is to get attached to the first boy she’s interacted with (besides the idiots who kept walking past her room to _check things out_ ), she already feels a little better about school, and about co-ed dorms.

 

“I’m Betty,” she offers, burying the instinct to reach out her hand like a business professional, because this is college, and people don’t do that unless they’re networking. This is casual. _Casual_ Betty.

 

“Jughead.” He tilts his head at her in anticipation of a question. “It’s a nickname. Don’t ask.”

 

“At least you already have a built-in conversation piece. The most I can talk about is an old cartoon or _Mad Men_.” She wonders if this is awkward, even as she twirls the fork up and out of the veggies amidst her stirring. Rambling. Not a good look.

 

“I’m guessing it’s short for Elizabeth? Then you could mention Elizabeth _Taylor_ or _Bennet_. ‘Pride and Prejudice’ references’ll probably be a big hit with the English majors.” There his eyebrows go, waggling again. She’s happy to have found someone else who can’t help but be expressive. Someone who’s thoughtful, probably smart, but not worryingly serious.

 

She suppresses the urge to talk or even _think_ about majors and the future on the first day of her newfound “freedom,” and switches gears, dragging her fork across sizzling meats. “So what are your best suggestions for making friends in a new place?”

 

“I’m probably the wrong guy to ask, considering I came here with my best friend from high school.” He pauses, tilting his head entreatingly, just an edge of playfulness. “Although I _have_ heard that sharing food is a great way to garner goodwill.”

 

“You want some?”

 

Surprised, he actually lifts himself off the wall. “Yeah, I’m down.”

 

Talking to him is fairly easy, even though they both stumble a little. She’s nervous, less so once she has some food in her stomach. They share, her meat and veggies to throw on his pizza, while he offers her a small slice of his cheesy confection.

 

“Is there a place to actually sit down and eat?” she asks, still elated that she’s eating straight out of the pot instead of on dishes she’d no doubt have to wash at home.

 

“Uh, sure. Follow me.”

 

His walls are haphazardly sticky-tacked with classic cinema posters, and the only thing that looks like it’s been properly unpacked are his books and a gaming console. She tries not to linger or creep on his collections.

 

“You can sit at my desk chair. I’ll take Archie’s,” he shrugs, sliding in front of a desk that’s mostly bare save for some mandatory school books. A guitar case is propped up in the corner.

 

“Do you both play?” she asks, eyeing the giant headphones leading to Jughead’s laptop, which is decorated in stickers varying from meme-like asides to band logos.

 

“No, I leave the song writing to Archie and he leaves the writing-writing to me. I’m sure you’ll be serenaded soon enough.” He takes another deep bite of pizza, breaking off the cheese with a little tear of his teeth.

 

She’s not sure what he means, but before she can ask, a redheaded boy practically trips into the room, stopping short when he sees Betty and her pot of food. Perhaps he’s a bit more surprised than he should be, unless she _really_ looks bad and that’s the shock factor.

 

“Uh, do you guys need the room?” The boy asks, bewildered.

 

“Archibald, this young lady is earning goodwill through sustenance. Our pizza is now a veggie-meat-lover’s special.”

 

“Sweet!” Archie pads into the room with a bounce in his step that makes Betty smile. His fingers swoop up the stringy cheese between the slice he’s trying to disentangle, but he stops short, glancing between his guitar and now-oily hand with mild disappointment. “Oh, shoot, I don’t think we have any paper towels.”

 

Purely out of instinct, she lifts the pot out of her lap to help clean up. “I can bring some down.”

 

“Don’t worry about it yet. Once you’ve eaten, I’ll walk up with you so you don’t have to make the trip back down,” Jughead offers, finger pinching his added ingredients to the top of his slice so they don’t roll away.

 

“Okay.” She tries not to worry that he’s only offering to walk her back so she doesn’t keep hanging out in their room. Not that she thinks he’d invite her up and then push her out, but old habits die hard, and worrying is one of hers.

 

They don’t talk about anything earth-shattering, and it’s a little awkward, maybe, at first, but they seem _nice_. After glancing at Jughead for some subtle signal she can’t seem to catch, Archie offers to play something for Betty on his guitar. _After_ the napkins, of course.

 

“We should probably let Betty settle in. Plus, you don’t want to get your guitar messed up. Come on, I’ll walk you back,” he announces. Once they’re in the hall, he leans over, confessing, “You don’t know it yet, but I just saved you from cringing for three minutes straight.” At her giggle, he smiles. “Once you like him, though, it’s not so bad.”

 

“I’m sure I will. He seems easy to like. I’m really glad I met you. Both of you.”

 

Padding back upstairs with Jughead in tow makes her feel giddy and strange. A few girls shoot looks she reads as jealousy and maybe a hint of judgment, but Jughead’s got his head down so he doesn’t even notice them, breezing past it all until they’re in her room. She fumbles over the paper towel roll, trying to ignore the way his muscles flex when he leans on her door frame.

 

“Here. And if you need any cleaning supplies, I’m pretty sure my mom has me stocked through the end of the year, so don’t hesitate to stop by.”

 

“Right. And, uh, I’m always looking for an excuse to go back to the dining hall or eat leftovers, so feel free to hit me up.”

 

“Thank you. I might take you up on that.”

 

“Cool. Nice to meet you, and, uh, thanks.” He offers her a crooked smile that inspires her to bounce on her toes, smiling back with what she hopes is warmth and not something totally insane.

 

It’s not until he’s walked back downstairs that she realizes she didn’t get his number.

 

~~~

 

When she spots Jughead sink into a couch on the far side of the room, tapping his knees and looking like he’s already counting down the minutes before he can leave, her heart sort of jumps in her chest. Maybe because he’s a familiar face? Maybe because he’s not holding whatever Jungle Juice is?

 

“Jug!”

 

His whole body tenses, only relaxing once he sees it’s her. “Hey…Betty?” The question at the end of her name squeezes her heart in insecurity. She’s probably not notable enough. Her fingers smooth down the lavender summer dress she’s changed into for the party. Now it all feels a bit silly.

 

“Yeah.” She pulls the length of her ponytail with all the fervor of squeezing the last bit of yogurt out of a tube. “I wasn’t sure I’d see you here.”

 

“Archie.”

 

Pursing her lips, she nods, not sure what else to say. _I love your book collection. I want to steal it. One time I broke into the Sheriff’s office to steal some files for an article and…_

 

“You enjoying the juice?” he asks, arching an eyebrow at her red solo cup.

 

“Oh, no. This is just Sprite. Helps settle my stomach.”

 

“You feeling okay?”

 

“Parties just make me nervous.” She shrugs, fiddling with the edge of her dress. There’s few seconds of silence, at which point she almost excuses herself for making _him_ feel as uncomfortable as _she_ does.

 

“You can sit and be nervous with me, if you want. Thankfully, we’ve already moved past the small-talk stage and can move on to other things like classic cinema.”

 

“Sure,” she laughs, relieved. The furniture is pushed so tightly together that she has to step over his long legs and avoid colliding her shin on a coffee table before getting into a suitable space. “Any films or eras in particular?”

 

 _Maybe he can be a friend_ , she thinks, eventually comfortable enough to put one elbow up on the couch to lean closer as she listens to his passionate tirades. _Maybe more._

 

“You sound kind of angry.” She lifts her cup, more to hide her smile than take an actual sip.

 

“I _am_ angry. What the hell kind of movie just leaves you on a bullshit ending?” He swallows, glancing away. “Sorry. An…unsatisfying ending.”

 

“You can swear,” she teases. “I know I look like Sandra Dee but I’m perfectly capable of hearing grown up words like _bull_.”

 

The way his smile widens, boyish and easy, lights up her insides. “You couldn’t even say it then.” He’s taunting her to do it, and yet she doesn’t _quite_ want to give in to the satisfaction. When he catches on to her determination, he turns to mirror her elbow on the couch, body open to her. _Finally_. “Besides, I think you probably fit into the Grace Kelly side of things more than Sandra Dee.” His eyes flicker over her face, giving her the distinctly unnerved feeling of sweat dripping down her neck. “Although the ponytail is very _Gidget_.”

 

“That so, Moondoggie?”

 

Feeling bold, she tugs the ponytail out with the tips of her nails, fluffing her waves in a way she hopes is reminiscent of the Hollywood classics. “How’s this? Grace Kelly enough for you?”

 

His ocean-blue gaze traces her hair in a way she wishes his fingers would, in a way she’s never really allowed herself to fantasize about with the boy right in front of her. Maybe she could…maybe she could kiss him? People do that at college parties all the time, right? She could be brave. This way.

 

Someone stomping over her toes jolts her out of the moment.

 

“Oh, sorry! Hey, Jug, you wanna play ping-pong?” Archie asks, backing up a little when he catches sight of Betty’s annoyed glare.

 

“This isn’t beer pong, right Arch?”

 

The earnestness of the redhead boy dulls the throbbing pain in her toes. “It’s straight ping-pong, I swear. Please? It’s doubles, and if you don’t help me I’ll end up with one of the guys from football and be forced to make a new best friend.”

 

“Serious threat, Arch. All right, I’ll come.” As Jughead scoots forward, he frowns, tongue at his teeth. Betty tries to make herself as small as possible. At least she can put her feet up on the couch. Maybe. And sit here by herself like a loser…

 

“You want to come watch?”

 

“Watch you play ping-pong?”

 

“With Archie’s clumsiness, it’s almost guaranteed that someone will get a pong to the face.” Laughing, she scoots up to join him. “I’m hoping it’s that Mantle kid, the one who walked around shirtless for three hours like an advertising board for abs.”

 

Archie hunches down into himself a bit, leading them through the crowd.

 

“Don’t worry, Arch, it’s endearing when you do it.” Jughead rolls his eyes good-naturedly when his friend’s back is turned, hands tucked into his pockets. Part of her had been hoping he’d take her hand, kind of like when Polly used to lead her through crowds at concerts. But they’re practically adults now. It’s not like it’s easy to get _lost_.

 

Watching is sort of fun at first, crowding around the table, everyone cheering, smack-talking, sidestepping to avoid a stray ball. It whacks her in the thigh once, and both she and Jug bend to get it, nearly bonking heads. It probably wouldn’t have hurt because of the cute beanie on his head. She wonders when he’ll take it off. If _she_ can take it off later.

 

Thoughts of defiling Jughead and getting him alone grow increasingly more likely to remain a fantasy as the night wears on. It’s probably just the nature of this kind of game that her smile would start to feel fake, as would her enthusiasm. Reggie crows at every point, high-fiving his partner Moose like they’ve just scored a touchdown. He occasionally offers to let a girl he thinks is cute do the first serve or blow on the ball for luck. Betty rolls her eyes at the hyper-energized show. Thankfully, Archie and Jug seem to be on the shyer side. Not that she would _mind_ blowing…

 

 _This is so stupid_ , she realizes, wondering how many college stereotypes they’re engaging in right now.

 

A small hand encases her forearm. Evelyn regards her expectantly. “Betty. I found some people I’d like you to meet.”

 

She glances up at Jughead, still engrossed in his game. He probably will be for a while. With a small, defeated sigh, she nods. “Okay.” Unable to resist, she gently touches Jughead’s arm. “Hey, my roommate needs to borrow me.”

 

“Okay.” His mouth twitches, almost _annoyed_ as he glances past her at Evelyn. Betty’s not sure if telling him was really necessary. It’s not like they’re here _together_ , she supposes.

 

“Okay.”

 

Forced. That’s what the rest of the night is. Polite nods, sweet smiles, fading from unwelcome touches, from conversations about what she plans to do, nostalgia, and gossip about residents. As people get more drunk, the air gets muggier, thinner, and she’s sick of the sound of her roommate, of Reggie repeatedly walking _just_ behind her to graze her ass. Of people telling her to switch to the juice.

 

Overwhelmed, she excuses herself to the bathroom. Thankfully, there aren’t any friend-seeking girls in there. Just water. Cool, safe, water. She dabs it along her neck, under her arms, anywhere she needs it.

 

“You can do this,” she tells herself, wiping under her eyes to fix smudged barely-there liner. Needing a bit of a confidence boost, she texts a selfie to Kevin.

 

 _First mixer_ , she types to send with her _god help me_ face.

 

A string of heart emojis, fire, and terms like _goddess_ follow, and she has to laugh into the sink.

 

It’s a party. It won’t be that bad. She just needs a shot of good old-fashioned confidence.

 

Amidst the attention-vying selfies being taken by people who want to show how _great_ they’re doing, Betty spots a familiar _S_ shirt and beanie leaning against the wall. Jughead’s boxed in by a few people including a girl who seems keen on touching his arm. His cringe is practically visible from space, but that doesn’t stop her from smacking at him every time he says something funny, which appears to be fairly often.

 

Striding through the crowd, Betty shoulders her way into the conversation, something about serial killer documentaries. Handsy finds them _fascinating._ Thinks most of them are hot. Betty offers her an insincere smile for interrupting. “Hi. Jug, I think I lost my card key in the couch, would you help me look for it?”

 

Blinking in surprise, he nods. “Okay. Bye…Nancy.”

 

No question mark after _her_ name, Betty sighs to herself. This time, Jug does touch her arm as they work through the crowd, but he doesn’t hold her.

 

“So do you think you lost it…what?” he asks, rubbing his hat when she stops at the back of the couch and fixes him with a stare.

 

“I tend not to lose things.”

 

“O…kay?”

 

“I thought you looked like maybe you needed to get away. _Nancy_ seems like she’s into the whole _psycho_ routine.”

 

A disbelieving chuckle hangs down with his chin. “Yeah, I guess so. Can’t account for taste, I guess. But she seems… _nice._  Probably would be better when she’s sober.”

 

Letting that sink to her stomach like bile, Betty nods, shoving her hands onto the back of the couch to brace herself from digging into her palms until the pain squeezes out her sadness. Not like she needs a rumor of self-harm starting at her first party.

 

It’s not like she _knows_ Jughead. Not like she has a claim on him. His first…friend.

 

“Right. My bad. Um, you can get back to it, then.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he muses, hopping around the couch arm. “Hiding in plain sight is kinda my thing. I told Archie I turn into a pumpkin at one, so I’m giving him approximately ten more minutes before I bolt. You wanna join me?”

 

“Yes. I’d like that.”

 

It’s quieter over here. More private.

 

She sinks into the couch, letting their thighs touch. Talking with him is comfortable. Like talking to an old friend, maybe one she hasn’t seen in a while, one she’s a little afraid to offend. But ten minutes turns into twenty, and she can feel this heat bubbling up inside of her even more than the carbonation. His eyelashes are so pretty, and his laugh is awkward, and she likes him. She even likes the way he _thinks_.

 

“Jughead?”

 

“Yeah?” he smiles, and she’s pretty sure there’s something mischievous there.

 

So she puts a hand on his thigh, electricity flowing through her, and leans in and kisses him. Just like she wants to. Like the girl she wants to be would. He catches her lips the second time she moves them, hand cradling her head. But instead of moving towards her, he pulls her with him and pushes her away.

 

Stunned, she licks her lips. Did she do it wrong? Jughead’s staring at her like she’s just confessed an embarrassing secret and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

 

 _Oh,_ she realizes numbly, lips still tingling from the kiss. _He didn’t want this._

 

“Sorry. I should have asked. We had that whole assembly about consent, and—” A heat wave flushes from her stomach up to through her lips. “Oh my god, I’m such a jerk. _I’m_ handsy.”

 

Jughead gapes a little, stumbling over something in his brain.

 

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry, Jughead. I was—it was stupid of me. I respect your consent. Or…lack of it. Shit. I’m sorry.”

 

Pushing off the couch, she feels Jughead move back to let her through. He might say her name, or she might imagine it, but she’s too horrified to do anything other than rush back to her room and wipe away the sting of tears.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A failure to connect on the same level at a college mixer doesn't mean a fallout for Betty and Jughead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii. So. Notes from last time still stand. I love you? I love Bughead? Uhhhh enjoy!

Betty basically trips over her own feet to get away from the awkwardness, and Jughead’s still too surprised by how hot his mouth feels to stop her. Betty Cooper, in her pretty purple dress with tiny little flowers and her Grace Kelly hair and big round eyes _kissed_ him. And he still doesn’t know how to feel about it.

 

Not… _bad_.

 

Surprisingly.

 

He’d always assumed when the time for things like kissing came around he’d be prepared for them. But sitting on the couch laughing about different interpretations of _The Count of Monte Cristo_ at a mixer wasn’t one of the possible scenarios. Yet it happened. The smart, pretty, _funny_ girl had chosen him as her first foray into the wilds of college.

 

Not sure what to do with it, he had kissed back, if only for a second, to know what it felt like. To understand on some level what it was like to have a nervous hand on his thigh, an eager mouth pressed to his. But it felt _surreal_. He didn’t _know_ her yet, even if he felt like on some level he did. And the second they stopped, she was babbling about consent and looked like she wanted to die and ran off, so the chances of _getting_ to know her now are pretty slim.

 

Swallowing profusely, he stands up and makes for the door. A sweaty Archie intercepts him. “Where you going, man?”

 

“It’s past time, I’m heading up.”

 

“Okay, do you want me to come back with you?”

 

“No, I’m fine. Just...don’t bring anyone else with you,” Jughead warns, knowing his best friend’s tendencies to get enamored hard and fast.

 

His friend just chuckles as he backs up to rejoin the crowd. “I’ll do my best.”

 

There’s a weird sense of relief that Archie isn’t joining him. That he can be alone with his thoughts, alone in _general_ for a few minutes without feeling the party pressing in on him.

 

He brushes his teeth, tongue feeling weird and swollen. He lays down, ripping his beanie on and off his head in the hopes it’ll give him some relief in this new place. Falling asleep usually isn’t a problem. He’s slept on Archie’s floor, air mattresses, the woods, sleeping bags, projection booths, the bus, pretty much any surface that can support him. But his heart is still racing with the thought of Betty Cooper tripping over his shins, the way her soft strength that had rippled around her when she let her hair out had hardened and prickled upon her hasty escape. All due to his…lack of response, if that’s what it was. She’d treated it like a rejection. In some ways, maybe it was, but he did _kiss_ her, so…he’s not sure what that means for them.

 

It’s not unheard of for people to connect that way at parties. And she’d been one of the few people he _enjoyed_ being with one-on-one, someone who didn’t expect him to enjoy parties and Jungle Juice, who shared food and talked with him about pretty much everything without making it seem like she was faking knowledge on the subject. And clearly, she _was_ interested in him. Just on a different level than he expected. Maybe they can still be... _something._  Friends?

 

His stomach boils with the knowledge that they probably should’ve talked about the kiss. They’re gonna run into each other in the kitchen, or at the very least in the dorms, and he knows they’ll be in some of the same classes and extracurriculars just based on prior conversations.

 

He doesn’t have her phone number, but he does know where she lives, which is somehow less creepy than it sounds in his head. Shoving his lanyard in his pocket, he sneaks into the hall, beanie fixed firmly on his head. He knocks on her door with adrenaline still twitching in his veins.

 

After some fumbling around, Betty opens it. His heart momentarily stills as he notes her pink-rimmed eyes, that she’s probably crying over _it._ The spectacular kiss-rejection combination. Receding into herself, Betty crosses her arms in front of comfy-looking cotton pajamas. Her shorts reveal the curved muscles of her legs, and he wonders if she does cross-country or a sport like Archie.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey.”

 

“I didn’t really like the way we left things, and I wanted to make sure we were okay.”

 

Betty cranes her neck over her shoulder, looking like she wants to escape into the safety of a comforter and pillow set. “I don’t know. I acted pretty crazy and I didn’t even have any Jungle Juice to blame for it. Not that that would be an excuse, but...” Chewing on his tongue, he’s not sure what to do with that. “It’s the first mixer. I guess something like this was bound to happen, or it’s not college.”

 

“Kissing?”

 

“Embarrassing myself,” she clarifies, ducking her head. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” She trails off, barely able to even get the words out.

 

“Hey, just to be clear, I’m not _mad_ or anything. Are you?”

 

Chin popping up, she stares at him, eyes blown wide. “No, of course not.”

 

“I’m not great with parties. Or people. So it just…it took me by surprise, is all.”

 

“Right.” The shuffle of her feet is nicely muted by her cat slippers. They’re cute.

 

“Do you want to get breakfast tomorrow?” Anxiety is practically palpable in the doorway between them.

 

“You don’t think it’ll be weird?”

 

Feeling bashful, he stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks off to the side. “Nah. I’m weird. Most guys would probably enjoy a kiss from a girl like you.”

 

“Most guys,” she repeats quietly, resigned and sad.

 

_Shit._

 

“I mean, they’d know what to do…more…than I would. Wow. Talk about embarrassing oneself at the first college mixer. I can’t even have a conversation without sticking my foot in my mouth. Maybe you should kiss me again just to shut me up.”

 

She blinks at him, confused.

 

“Sorry. Bad timing.”

 

“It’s okay.” They both shift in the time it takes to swallow. “Did you…did you want me to kiss you again?”

 

“No, I…”

 

Part of him wants to offer her a hug. She looks soft and sweet. Strong. Smart. He’s not sure why these words keep popping up in his brain when he looks at her, especially because she’s probably still sad, and he might be making it worse.

 

“I mean, maybe, someday? I’m not great with physical affection. Archie thinks I’m kind of on the ace spectrum? Relationships don’t come easily to me, and I don’t think I’ve ever really wanted one. That doesn’t mean…I mean, college is a time to figure out sexuality, so I’d appreciate you not blabbing that to the whole dorm, but I do like you so far. Like, talking and…probably eating with you would be nice. We could get to know one another better. I just might not want to have sex with you.” _Nice_ , he chides himself. “You know what I mean. So…breakfast?”

 

“Breakfast,” she repeats with a small, tired smile. He’s so grateful for it that he raises his arm for a hug, one she quietly accepts, one that soothes the anxiety in his gut, even with a face full of her hair.

 

When he goes to sleep, he dreams of Betty with her legs drawn up on the couch, crying because he’s trying to paddle them out to sea and she can’t help him. It’s a weird first night.

 

Breakfast is mercifully less awkward. There’s some overcompensation on both ends, sure, but he doesn’t mind. They have some classes together. He has to touch his lips to hide his smile whenever she says something insanely smart or when she shoves her clothes in the laundry machine a little forcefully because Evelyn’s been illegally burning incense again and everything smells like _Peaceful Pine_ and it’s driving her crazy. He regales her with passive-aggressive prank possibilities for retaliation, like leaving their emptied popcorn bags or pizza boxes in the room to combat the trees. She laughs, but is definitely the level of thoughtful and kind that cleans the kitchenette microwave after it’s used and dumps her garbage appropriately in major receptacles after snacking with him in his room or the common area.

 

They make jokes, exchange numbers, edit each other’s papers, go as “dates” when they’re assigned ridiculous events no one else wants to go to for the paper. The way she snaps her fingers and smiles at him during the avant-garde poetry jam kind of makes him want to die and laugh all at the same time, and there is _something_. Warmth, he thinks. A crush? But it still lingers closer to the same fondness he holds for Archie as opposed to someone he wants to get naked with.

 

Besides Archie, Betty, and a few persistent people from his classes, he doesn’t really have any go-to friends. As much as he loves the slightly pretentious writer in the coffeehouse vibe he gives off, it’s nice to have someone to save a seat for, or save a seat for him. Betty’s beaming smile when she moves her backpack to wave him over always makes his throat lump and heart quicken with the idea of being genuinely _welcomed_ as opposed to tolerated or recruited in some orientation scam.

 

Other girls show interest in him, but mostly as a potential lay or boyfriend. No one’s stuck around long enough once he’s rebuffed their advances to stay in his circle besides a few casual more like acquaintance-friends who haven’t shown any regard for him sexually anyway. College dynamics are weird, but he likes being able to be friendly with either everyone or no one depending on the mood.

 

The next dorm mixer approaches, and his toes tingle, remembering the last one.

 

“Are you going?” he asks, sliding his lunch tray alongside Betty’s. They sort of share, since he usually has overflow.

 

“I don’t know, maybe. I might meet someone who _actually_ wants to kiss me,” she teases, the joke nearly wiping him off his feet. “Fruity Choos or Count Crunch?”

 

He’s still struggling to wrap his mind around her offhanded comment while he frowns at the cereal, struggling to maintain her levity. “Count Crunch. This isn’t gonna become a thing, is it? Kissing acquaintances at parties?”

 

Rolling her eyes, she swoops past him to get two glasses of milk so the cereal doesn’t get soggy on the way to the table. She’s thoughtful like that. “Doubtful, considering how I embarrassed myself the last time I went out on that limb.”

 

For whatever reason, he finds himself scoffing.

 

She must be able to sense him lagging, amending, “Food-bonding and chatting are a lot less stressful, so maybe I’ll stick to that. Shall we?”

 

Her smile is weak, and his must be too, because they don’t talk much on the way to the table. He’s been enjoying getting to know her and thought maybe…maybe it was going somewhere. _Maybe_.

 

“So…are you _hoping_ to meet someone?”

 

He feels an annoyed prickling of heat crawling up the back of his neck, and stabs at his cereal.

 

Sighing, Betty lets her spoon sink into the bottom of her bowl. “Look, Jughead, I know you’re still…figuring things out, and you deserve and need all the time in the world for that. But I—I do have _urges_. Not animalistic ones, or anything, but it’d be nice to meet someone who’s interested in me…sexually. Romantically.” She stares at the table space between them, and she might as well be searing _“because you don’t seem to be”_ into it. Swallowing against something hard, his ears feel like they’re burning. “Are we okay? Should we talk about it? I mean, I presumed because it’s been like a month and you haven’t said or done anything that—”

 

“No. No, it’s fine.”

 

He stares at his cereal, trying to ignore the whir of something in his brain. Maybe he feels a little like he’s let her down by not indulging in anything besides some light flirting. Because he _does_ like her, he’s just not sure…he’s not sure he can give her what she wants and _needs_. Right now _them_ as a couple only exists in his brain as a mildly curious _what if_. Probably because she’s so easy to get along with. And pretty. Smart. Funny. A bit of a worrier, but determined enough that it’s usually just a blip on her radar before she organizes her way to the light at the end of the tunnel. _A worrier and a warrior_ , he teases her sometimes, just to see that megawatt grin.

 

He’s been looking into stuff a little bit, the differences between aromantic and asexual and everything in between, but most of his research hadn’t seemed _pressing_ yet. He’s been distracted by the newness of college life. Yet, here it is. Pressing. _Betty_.

 

It’s not like he knows _that_ much more than when he was in high school and realized he was not as into looking at body parts as the rest of his peers. Porn doesn’t do anything for him. Masturbating feels _good_ -ish, sort of like giving himself a massage. Nice, but no grand finale. He’d hate to ask Betty to lend him a hand to see if he can finish, especially since he’s still waffling between thinking of her as one of his closest friends here and a potential something more. He wants to be _sure_. And maybe less weird about it all. If he asks her out now, it’ll just seem like it’s because he doesn’t want her meeting anybody else.

 

He doesn’t.

 

But probably not for the right reasons.

 

He’s drawn out of his thoughts by Betty’s hand creeping over the distance between them. When he looks at it, she draws back and puts her soft-looking wavy hair in a bun.

 

Sometimes he feels like such a fucking waste of space. Like he’s broken. It’s not her fault he’s not wired like everybody else. And maybe it’s not his.

 

Some kind of disappointment hovers over them like a cloud and he’s not sure what to do about it. Like with everything else, though, Betty seems to tunnel her way into looking ahead.

 

The day of the mixer, Jughead’s a nervous wreck. “Do you think…I mean, should we keep an eye on Betty tonight?”

 

Surprised, still shirtless as he picks out to wear, Archie asks, “Why?”

 

Truthfully, he’s not sure. Jughead wants to spend time with her. And cuddle with her. _Maybe_ try kissing again. He’s had some odd symbolic dreams about her. There was one involving her licking an ice cream cone and offering him a taste that’d been pretty interesting. He chalked it up to them spending the weekend eating tubs of ice cream and watching feel-good comedies to stave off homesickness, talking about their families and friends and _lives_ for hours on end. But that dream could’ve just been about intimacy. It wasn’t _inherently_ sexual. Besides, he’s never done the _girl_ thing. That’s Archie’s job. Or he acts like it is, anyway.

 

Is Jughead supposed to ask her out? Kiss her? Just flat-out say he has no idea what he’s doing but he’d like them to keep doing it, especially if it involves ice cream?

 

He still hasn’t decided by the time he sees Betty get dragged down the hall by one of her girlfriends. Her hair is down and she’s in the pink denim skirt she wore the first time they went to a retro diner on Shake Day. Moose checks out her ass on the way down the stairs and Jughead has to stifle the urge to remind him where her just-as-fantastic eyes are. Maybe Betty prefers a guy who stares at her ass a little bit. Maybe Jughead’s been noticing it a little more, too, but he isn’t sure he’s noticing her ass or noticing other people noticing her ass, which is a difference he’d really love to figure out sooner rather than later.

 

A game of ping-pong and two bowls of chips later, he’s no closer to figuring things out. Betty’s sweet. She’s holding herself together nicely. But there’s this stupidly needy part of him that wants her to be his little life boat again. So when Moose wraps an arm around her shoulders, Evelyn preaches something about _the beauty of connectedness_ , and the tell-tale signs of her strained smile come out, Jughead shoves the bowl of chips aside and practically hip-checks some girl out of the way to do her a solid.

 

“Hey. Sorry to interrupt.” _He’s not sorry._ It’s almost obnoxiously transparent. “Betty, would you be kind enough to help me find my phone? I think I lost it and you’re the only other person here with my number.”

 

“Oh! Sure.”

 

Disentangling herself, Betty follows him into the hallway. “Where did you—” She stops, eyes crinkling in good humor as she shakes her head. “You didn’t lose your cell phone, did you?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“I see. Repaying the exit strategy. I like it.”

 

“Really?” He saunters forward, a warm feeling spreading in his chest.

 

“Yeah, in case I was feeling overwhelmed? We should have a signal or something. Scratching our elbow or tugging our ears, so we can save each other from awkward encounters.”

 

“So you don’t mind being taken away from Moose?”

 

Betty blinks, stepping back in surprise. “I was more so talking about Evelyn, but no, I didn’t mind. I mean, Moose seems like a nice enough guy. He asked me to go to a football game, but I usually support Archie there anyway, so it’s no big deal if it doesn’t go well.”

 

Confusion ripples the satisfied feeling in his chest. “If what doesn’t go well?”

 

“I told him I don’t really have it in me to go to too many events outside of what we have for the paper, so he said he’d be my date to the next one, especially if I stick around after a game.” She shrugs almost apologetically, which somehow makes him feel worse. “You’ll be off the hook for at least one night of insanity.”

 

“I don’t—Betty, I don’t want to be _off the hook_. I _like_ going to those weird things with you. I thought we liked going with each other. How would you feel if I took Nancy to Shake Day?”

 

Looking lost, Betty folds her arms just under her chest, pushing it up in a way that’s weirdly distracting. “Do you _want_ to take Nancy to Shake Day?”

 

A ridiculous question. “ _No_.”

 

“Well, did you want to date someone and feel weird about telling me?”

 

“No, it’s not that.”

 

”If it’s about the place, I guess I can just invite Moose to the dining hall—”

 

“Are you kidding me?”

 

“What?”

 

“That’s our thing.”

 

Her eyebrows climb up her face, and he’s surprising _himself_ with how ridiculous and anxious he feels. “Eating at the dining hall? That’s our thing?”

 

“No. There’s a million— _things_ , that are just— _ours_ , and it’s weird that you’re suddenly doing them with other people.”

 

Color drains from her face. It almost makes him uncomfortable, the way she spreads her stance. He’s gotten close amidst his protests, shoulders hunched forward, hands balled into fists.

 

“You can’t tell me not to date someone just because you’re afraid I’ll stop hanging out with you, okay? I’m not the kind of friend who just drops everything for a guy.”

 

“I didn’t—” He flushes hot, looking away. “You can hang out with anybody you want to.”

 

“Look, I’m trying to get over this crush, or whatever isn’t going to be happening between us. I _want_ to want someone who can want me back. I _want_ to be desired. Lusted after _and liked_. And if that makes me shallow and vapid, I’m sorry. I still respect what you want, and what you don’t. We’re not—you’ve made it clear we’re not _dating_ , and that it’s not something you’re emotionally equipped for, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to pretend that you’re interested—”

 

“I’m not pretending!”

 

She blinks, stunned into silence.

 

“I mean, I don’t _pretend_ about anything.”

 

The silence spreads out in front of them. He refuses to break it, nearly trembling with whatever’s happening inside of him. This stupid urge to hug her. Shaking her head, Betty spreads her fingers out of their fists. “Okay. Do you…do you _like_ me?”

 

“Of course I like you.”

 

They both stare just below each other’s chins, a bubbling lava-lamp feeling rippling up inside of him.

 

“Does that mean…are you _attracted_ to me?”

 

If he could just _become_ his wool beanie or climb into the walls, that would be less painful. “I mean, you’re attractive. I’ve _noticed_ things on occasion.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

Defeated, he hangs his neck back. He can’t make any promises that he can transition his surreal potentially sexual dreams into reality. “You’re...pretty. And I like cuddling with you, and I have... _thought_ about it. Not _it_ -it, but just... _us_. Dating. Which we’re already kind of doing.”

 

Looking pained, Betty uncrosses her arms. “Juggie, we do basically everything you’d do with a friend. Which is great, and necessary, but I...I’m sorry, I know I need more than that from a partner. I need to be wanted.”

 

He doesn’t tell her that he’s never dreamed of Archie licking an ice cream cone. That he doesn’t idly wonder about how warm he is, or the shape of his legs.

 

“I find you attractive,” he says carefully, not making eye contact.

 

“But you haven’t done anything.” It sounds so final, depressed.

 

“I wasn’t ready to do anything. Or even...sure if I should. How much I _can_.”

 

“Okay...?”

 

She waits for an answer he’s not sure he can give.

 

He bites his lip, looking down the hall. Lying would be so easy. _Betty, I’d love to be your boyfriend! Let’s go make out on the couch where we had our first embarrassing moment so Moose can suffocate me with my own beanie for stealing his date._

 

“I don’t know...if I’m supposed to wait for you,” she admits quietly.

 

He sighs, deflated and frustrated by the pressure in his lungs. “I’m not sure either. You want to go back inside?”

 

“No.” Her gaze falls to the floor, body swaying as if she’s debating leaning against the wall or turning towards the stairs. “I was getting a little exhausted watching people crush potato chips into the carpet and down vodka-filled water bottles.”

 

“It’s only a matter of time before Reggie takes off his shirt.” She exhales a short laugh, which he counts as a minor victory. “Wanna head back and watch a movie or something?”

 

Teeth worrying her bottom lip, Betty nods, but for most of the night, it’s like she’s afraid to look him in the eye. She’s thinking, guarded, and he wishes for once, he could be normal and just drink or fuck his worries away.

 

**

 

A football game comes up within a few days, and Jughead finds himself making an effort with some of his classmates for an excuse to go in a group, to suppress his swelling heart as he spots what looks like a jersey-jacket and blonde ponytail in the stands. She’s with some girlfriends, and waves and cheers for Archie and Moose while Jughead folds into himself and tries to make comments about the game with his peers. But he keeps _thinking_ about her. About _them._ Afterwards, as the stands start to clear, he makes his way over to her.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey.” She stuffs her cell phone in her pocket, cheeks a little bright from cheering and the cold.

 

“Moose inviting you to an after-party or something?”

 

“No, I think we’re just going to relax and grab something from the café.” She swings her body back and forth on her toes, like she’s warming up to run. His fists flex at his sides.

 

“Betty, I…”

 

Halting, she stares at him with her big green eyes about as electric as the stadium lights. “What?”

 

He stares at her lips, his own falling open in a visible breath.

 

_I can’t…right now…it’s not fair to her. Or to Moose. Shit._

 

“I just wanted to wish you good luck.”

 

With a thin smile, Betty nods. “Thank you.”

 

“I, um, and no expectation or anything, because I do want you to enjoy your date, but I think I’m demi.”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Demisexual,” he clarifies, wanting to bang his face on the metal bleachers and bury himself under his hat. “I’ve been doing some research, and…I think that’s the spectrum I lean towards. Like, I do feel sexual attraction, but only when…only when I’m emotionally invested as well. So I don’t know if and when that stuff will kick in to its full capacity or what that’d be, but I think you’re great, and you deserve someone who will give you what you want.”

 

“Okay. But-” Her lips part, but her attention’s drawn past him, possibly at her approaching date.

 

His pulse pushes his whole ribcage out like it’s making room for all the popcorn he’d consumed to reanimate in his chest. “Sorry. Bad timing. It’s kind of my thing.”

 

Her expression softens, and he has half a mind to drag her down the stands and into a hug. He kind of wants to cry, to ask her, _What’s wrong with me?_ Instead, she leans down and draws him into a tight embrace. Everything else fades away in the empty creaks of abandoned bleachers and footfall and the warmth of Betty’s body against his.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't be too upset >.< These babies are both trying to figure it out. I might not even make you wait a whole week to read the update just because we all want a happy ending! Hopefully their motivations for why they haven't moved forward together romantically make sense. Betty, because he basically told her he might never want her that way, and Jughead, because he's still not sure how much he does bc he's never pushed those boundaries before. But they both love each other dearly as friends and certainly don't want the other person to feel pressured one way or another during an already hectic adjustment period of their lives. How are you feeling?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty and Jughead discover an amazing new way to bond. It doesn’t involve pizza. Nor couches. Well, not yet, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two were in a tough spot, but definitely supportive of one another. Hopefully you enjoy both of them navigating some new possibilities in their relationship. Also, there aren't many details about Betty's date, so you can presume what you want, I suppose, but the implication is that nothing happened. Just wanted to clarify that for anyone who's nervous read that part ^-^ Um, things do get steamy with Jug. So. Be prepared for that.

Lingering guilt stains the rest of Betty's evening. She knows her laughs and smiles are a little bit put-upon, even if Moose doesn’t seem to notice. All she keeps thinking of is how sherpa feels against her cheek, how she swears she could feel Jughead’s heartbeat against her own for that full minute of hugging. Which is stupid, because he said he doesn’t do physical stuff. Until tonight, when he said it was a possibility…once they got close enough. Or no—he wants to, once he feels emotionally connected? Sometimes? Or maybe he does feel that way now?

 

Her heart aches at the thought that she might still not be enough, and not because of anything she _is_ or _isn’t_ , just because that’s the way it is. There’s no one else, really, that he’s gotten particularly close to in the last month or so. But if he’s still not sure about her, is it even possible there’s been someone else in the past or that someone else in the future will get to date him? It’s not like she _expected_ anything, but she’d _hoped_ , and hoping had become pining and that became painful as the weeks wore on with no end in sight. It’s not like he owes her anything just for spending time together. It’s his right not to feel sexually inclined towards anybody, and if he does, he is _allowed_ to fall in love. Or lust. Or something.

 

Even if it isn’t with her. Even if it’s _never_ with her.

 

An expletive shoots through her brain the same time her nails break her palms.

 

“You all right?” Moose leans over, hand on her shoulder, brown curls soft and wavy and _nice_ , sure.

 

“Yeah! Totally. So, what were you saying about Central?”

 

She manages to keep nodding and smiling as he wanders across campus with her, telling stories about his friends from high school. To her surprise, his hand wanders into hers, and she finds herself thinking that it’s warm, but not much else. Maybe because of her accidental injury. Maybe because of Jughead. Thinking of him while on a date with someone else feels unfair. To Moose. To Jughead, even to herself. But maybe this is sort of how Jughead feels when people try to get physically close with _him_. Fine, but not great. Moose is handsome, and sweet. _Kinda_ funny. And he’s interested. Clearly, interested. All signs should point to go, but the mental connection isn’t really there.

 

Her heart’s still at the football field with the person least likely to still be there, the one who’d squeezed her whole body with a _good luck_ just an hour before.

 

He’s funny. He’s warm. Gorgeous, yes, and smart and special and…probably still not that interested in seeing her naked.

 

Starting, Betty realizes she’s zoned out during Moose’s monologue and internally vows to be a better date.

 

**

 

Things are a little tense as Jughead bypasses the coffee urn, seemingly resigned to his sluggish demeanor. Betty tries to keep their respective meals as balanced as possible until she spots the familiar red hair and broad shoulders that they’re heading for.

 

Archie eagerly moves down a chair so Betty and Jughead can share their trays more easily. “So, Betty, I heard Moose asked you out. Congrats.”

 

Momentarily confused, she hovers about an inch from taking her seat. “Uh, thanks. Why, exactly…?”

 

“Well, I’ve seen things in the locker room.”

 

Jughead splutters his drink all over the table and his hand, Betty wordlessly passing him a handful of napkins in an attempt to suppress her shock.

 

Archie frowns at Jughead’s mess and leans forward with his elbows on the table. “So how was it? The date, I mean.”

 

“It was…fine.” Her gaze darts over to Jughead, who busies himself cleaning his face, hands, and the table.

 

“Did you…?”

 

She sees the way Jughead’s throat bobs, but he doesn’t blink, doesn’t look up from his tray.

 

Something cheeky, _a lady doesn’t kiss and tell_ , or a _none of your business_ , would be most appropriate. That’s what a girl not still pining over a guy who may or may not be interested in her would say. Or she could try to make him jealous.

 

But that isn’t something a good friend would do. And Jughead, despite her longing for him to be _more_ , has always been an amazing friend.

 

“We went to the café for a post-game snack and walked around afterwards. It was a first date, Archie, not quite as intimate as whatever you all do in the locker room.”

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Jughead smile a little. It’s silly that she still cares about that. Looking for hope is stupid. It’s like they’re in reverse. He doesn’t know if/when/how much he’ll want her sexually and she doesn’t know if/when she’ll stop being attracted to him. It sucks. But she’ll get through it. More time, maybe? A few more dates? Or maybe Jughead will come around and be more than _curious_ about dating her and they’ll be able to really give things a go. His confession and studying seems to indicate that's the way things are going, at least. Maybe.

 

Being hopeful feels like setting herself up for disappointment, so she might as well try to have fun and take care of herself and her relationships in the meantime. She sort of had fun with Moose in the same way it’s “fun” to get complimented on a piece in class. Hanging out with Jughead is still the best part of her week. Maybe she’ll journal some more, or talk to her therapist on the phone from back home, who would probably tell her to value friendship and herself enough to realize that her heart _will,_ in fact, go beyond her first kitchenette crush and mixer kiss.

 

Still, when his tongue pokes his cheek and he shoots her a glance full of what she thinks is affection, whatever pizza-bound crush had been ignited back on that first night seems to melt into her a little deeper. This is going to take a lot of work. But she’s willing to do it if it means getting to keep their beautiful little friendship.

 

***

 

They’re in his room so she can avoid her nutso roommate's “serenity circle.” Betty’s pen is at her mouth, her knees bent over his outstretched legs on the bed while they both read, but he keeps getting distracted by those _lips_.

 

“Any plans for this weekend, Betts?”

 

“Hm? No.”

 

“No Moose?”

 

She rolls her eyes, but seems determined to finish her homework. “No.”

 

It’s final enough that he feels emboldened to make an offer. “You should...maybe you could come here? Get away from Evelyn and her herbal supplements and hang out with me. We can binge on pizza and tv.”

 

Her eyes flash with the strange LED flicker of the overheads as she turns to look at him. “Just you and me? What about Archie?”

 

“Archie’s out of town for the weekend. You could even stay in his bed...or mine, if you prefer.” He runs his fingers along the slightly ridged edge of his book. It’s smooth, despite the way it looks ripe for a paper cut.

 

She glances down at the blankets, lifting her butt to check for inevitable crumbs and snack residue. “Um, do you wash these, or...?”

 

Her mild apprehension makes him bust out laughing, knocking the back of her thighs with his legs. “We will, just so you won’t have to deal with dirty, stinky boy smell.”

 

With a wry smile, she plucks at his sock-covered toes. “About time.”

 

“I resent that!” He has trouble not grinning, keeping his heart at a natural rhythm. Having a crush is weirdly invigorating. That’s definitely what this is. A crush. A desire to press her against him before his feelings push all the air out of his lungs.

 

Even setting up the sheets, knowing she’s gonna sit on them, makes it worth the quarters and guard duty to make sure they don’t end up on the floor. He texts her the whole time. Plays  _Words With Friends_ even though she's studying. Maybe more than friends, soon, he hopes.

 

There isn’t anywhere really comfortable to watch things on the same screen besides the elevated bed. A sloth’s nest. A _clean_ sloth’s nest, at least, for their weekend adventure.

 

“This okay?” he asks, a little nervous, pulling at his exposed hair when he notices her staring. “Otherwise we can sit on the desk chairs and—”

 

“No, it’s fine. We can cuddle,” she shrugs, a slight blush on her cheeks. The whole time they’re pressed together in the corner, his pulse is about as jumpy as a rabbit’s.

 

Betty nestles into his shoulder, her hand curled lightly over the _S_ on his shirt. “Thanks for the refuge.”

 

“My pleasure.”

 

He lets his fingers skim the length of her soft arm, his throat constricting when she sighs and snuggles up closer. Everything seems tangled in comfort and tension.

 

“Did you want me to break out the snacks?” she hums, sounding almost content.

 

“Not yet.”

 

Her head lifts up in surprise, searching for the reasoning he’d ever postpone food, but he manages to keep his gaze on the screen until she lays back against him. He doesn’t want to get their fingers and lips salty before...well, _before_. _If_. Betty shifts, one foot slipping over his ankle.

 

“So…I’m just curious, but did you ever have any celebrity crushes?”

 

“Not really. There were some characters I thought were cooler than others, but nobody that really captured my heart _that_ way. Although I did understand the aesthetic appeal of the Hitchcock blondes,” he teases, flipping her hair around his fingers.

 

“Right. Sorry. Why would you have crushes if you didn’t…? Never mind.” Her ponytail basically bops him on the cheek as she tucks her chin further into both of their chests.

 

He doesn’t want her to feel… _embarrassed_ for asking about his preferences. Especially since he wants to talk about them too, even act on them, if she’s still interested.

 

His fingers tighten into her shoulder, pressing her against him. “Hey, Betty?” When she tilts her head up, her eyes shiny with the glow of his laptop screen, he pushes past the instinct to vomit butterflies and asks, “Can I kiss you?”

 

At first, she just blinks at him, her lips parting in surprise. Then her gaze dips to his mouth, and he tries not to crumble under the quiet scrutiny of his crush. “Do you _want_ to?”

 

“Yes,” he smirks, leaning just a little closer. “Do _you_ want to?”

 

“I...yes.”

 

The whole world slants a little as they slot together, his lips over hers, his fingers feather-light on her cheek. It’s _nice_. Soothing and soaring. There’s no noise at first. After a moment, he feels her eyelashes brush the apple of his cheeks. They’re both tentative, but Betty sits up further, her hand carefully coming up to his shoulder to balance.

 

Maybe it’s a little surreal again, but it’s also sealing his mouth with heat that seems to keep the butterflies contained in his gut instead of climbing up his throat. He likes having her pressed against him. He likes the velvety pressure of her lips, the little almost-squeak in between each kiss. Betty’s fingers trail up and around the back of his neck, dipping into his hair and raking his scalp. Things go from _nice_ to spectacular pretty fucking quickly.

 

Blood is flooding his extremities, but he doesn’t know how he wants to relieve it other than to shove pressure on top of it. Jughead ends up leaning over Betty entirely, squashing his chest into hers with a _whoosh_ of air that has her clinging to his shoulders, afraid to fall off the bed.

 

“I’ve got you, Betts.”

 

“Juggie,” she mumbles, almost sounding drunk, her blonde hair pooled on the pillow. Her eyes are darker than he’s ever seen them before, framed under long, soft lashes.

 

He loves the way her fingers curl into his shoulders, moving up to frame his face. “Is this okay?”

 

She smiles and nods, scooting in closer. “Is this okay for you?”

 

“More than. It's great.”

 

Their kisses deepen, getting longer, and he feels his neck strain in the hopes of angling _just right_. She shifts her thighs, and he takes the cue to center his weight between her legs and onto his forearms before dipping down to kiss her again. It’s weird, how naturally it comes, the rhythms of what he needs. He hopes it’s good for her, and tries to read the subtle way she moves, pulls at his shirt. A tingle burns down in a messy diamond right above his groin, prickles along his chest and shoulders.

 

“I thought you didn’t—” Betty pants in between messy, slightly more desperate kisses. “I thought you weren’t sure about physical stuff.”

 

“I’ve been thinking about kissing you, and I really _, really_ want to keep kissing you,” he breathes, lips trailing down her neck, her chest.

 

“Jug, that’s good and all, but this isn’t an experiment, right?”

 

A sharper tingle runs through his limbs and he freezes, an inch or two away from her skin. “Do you want to stop?”

 

He feels his own breath reflected back at him over her neck, the way her thighs move and accidentally slide against his arousal.

 

She pushes her hair back out of her face, closing her eyes for a moment like a headache is coming on. “Just…explain this to me. What’s happening?”

 

“Um, an erection?” At her unrelenting stare, he lets out a breath, and hopefully the rest of his sarcasm. “Honestly, I don’t even know. I feel _close_ to you and I wanna _keep_ getting close to you and I don’t know. I don’t know.” His face dips, hovering close enough to feel her breath, her chest rising and falling in concentrated effort as she tries to keep her gaze on his eyes. “I’ve never felt this way before, but I...I want something. _More_. Am I…is this okay? Do you want more than this too?”

 

“You know I do, I’m just worried that this is like when girls make out with each other at parties just to see if it feels good.”

 

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Have you…?”

 

“The only person I’ve kissed at a party is you.”

 

He chuckles, stroking the curve of her jaw. “Likewise. Betty, the only person I _want_ to kiss is _you._ I trust you. I want you.”

 

She pushes up and into him and they’re kissing again, her calves wrapping around the back of his knees to keep him against her. Any hesitation dissipates as her tongue swipes between his lips. He moans a little, desperate, pushing relief against her in time to her rolling hips.

 

“Can you touch me?” she whispers, grinding herself against him.

 

Based on the way he’s currently supporting himself, the only place he can think of reaching is sliding one forearm under neck and the other hand up her shirt. The skin is smooth and warm and quivering a little bit underneath him. As his palm encases her breast, she gasps, a tightness clenching in his gut.

 

“Fuck, you feel amazing.”

 

He’s vaguely aware of limbs moving, her arms winding around to remove her shirt and bra, the exposed flesh stunning him so much that he doesn’t move out of the way in time and ends up getting clocked on the chin.

 

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Dizzy, he vaguely registers her hands on either side of his face.

 

“Yeah. _Yeah_. Can I…?”

 

He lowers himself over her pale breast, wanting to _touch_ , to _taste_. Betty nods, scooting into a position he can fit against her more comfortably. She gasps, high and sharp as his tongue swipes a lazy circle around her nipple. His hand grasps her circumference, funneling her flesh into his ministrations. Breasts have never been this fascinating in the history of mankind. He's sure of it. Betty should be sculpted, studied, by his hands and by his tongue.

 

“Please, oh my god.”

 

Amidst his research he’s seen... _read_... _things_. Things he thinks might be put to use. He turns to her other breast, sucking and kneading at her pleasure.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“I want you to fuck me.”

 

He sits up a little, staring at her mussed hair and reddened lips. Betty curls into herself, arms coming up to cover her chest. “I’m sorry, I know that’s fast. We don’t need to, this is more than I ever expected, I just...I want to.”

 

“I’m more shocked by the language than the request.” He grazes his tongue along her nipple, keeping eye contact until he sucks down and she leans back, closing her eyes and wrapping her legs around him more tightly.

 

“Fuck. Me.”

 

He kisses up her chest, into her neck and the little sacred space just under her jaw, where she’s probably most vulnerable.

 

“Yes. _Yes_.”

 

She’s saying it, he is, and even though he’s hard and desperate, he still feels weird about raiding the condom stash and mumbles something to the effect of, “I’ve never come before,” which he assumes will break the mood enough for them to talk about what’s happening, but Betty reaches down and palms him through his jeans, a strangled noise escaping his throat as stars prickle in his bloodstream.

 

“Do you want a hand?”

 

“C-can I? Wait! Isn’t there a book?” He groans, shallowly rutting against her hand. “ _She Comes First_?”

 

“We’ll get there.” She kisses his shoulder, his lips, leaving them both a little glassy-eyed. “Do you want to take off your clothes, Juggie? And do you want to come to something dry, like we keep doing what we’re doing with my thigh and a hand, or do you want something wet?”

 

 _Wet like her mouth, wet like her cunt_ , he thinks, totally lost in looking at her lips, moaning as he feels a drip of what he thinks is precum leak out of his tip and soil his underwear.

 

“ _Shit_.”

 

“I’ll take that as a general ‘yes?’”

 

“Yes.”

 

Giggling in what he thinks is joy and a bit of nerves, Betty helps him with his pants. His brain finally kicks in enough to remind him that sex usually works better _naked_ and he starts to remove his own clothes. Curious and determined, he shimmies her out of her pants too, sort of awestruck that he’s actually _interested_ in the rest of her body. Her heat. Those two plump lips, just waiting to be explored. “May I?” he asks, skimming the inside of her thigh. She flinches, almost like she’s ticklish, and he has to suppress the urge to make her laugh amidst their passion.

 

“Yeah. May _I_?”

 

“Go for it.”

 

He crawls closer in the small space, tentatively pressing against her giving folds, surprised by how wet the seam is before even delving in. Her hand slicks up and down his dick. It’s nice, but not _hard_ enough? Fast enough? He struggles to understand amidst a foggy almost-headache that feels less like pain and more like rapture. Wrist facing up, he strokes the silky, fleshy petal-like textures of her folds, amazed when she bats her eyelashes and arches her back, begging for more.

 

Once he finds it, he circles her clit with his fingers, feels a throbbing that might even be her pulse. Touching her makes his heart race to the point his dick throbs and neck aches.

 

“Betty,” he pants, setting his teeth into her shoulder, hoping to stave off whatever force is building inside of him.

 

“You’re doing so good, Jug. What do you need?”

 

He whines, feeling pathetic and warm and needy, at a near total-loss for words. Nothing has even come _close_ to this when he masturbates. Pressing his face further into the softness of her hair and the smoothness of her cheek, he rubs her a little harder.

 

“Ah! Careful,” she admonishes lightly, shifting to spread her thighs a little wider for him. Going slow makes her moan, her chin tilting up like she’s just been hit with with the warmth from a shower head. A waterfall, maybe. “Juggie…”

 

He slips his fingers lower, inside of her. The pressure is breathtaking in a way he doesn’t think he could’ve expected just by _touching_ , pumping his fingers inside of her.

 

“Holy _shit_ ,” he murmurs against her skin, thrusting until her fist slams at the base of his dick, his tip tapping the firm flesh of her thighs.

 

Pressure builds, almost squeegeeing him from the insides down to his cock.

 

He isn’t sure how much warning is supposed to take place or where he’s supposed to do this, but Betty tenses underneath him, murmuring, “I’m close, I’m close, Juggie,” and that coil tightens, as do her thighs. He just keeps doing what he’s doing, backing up enough so that he can see her face tilt back in amorous rapture as something in her seems to snap, features contorting almost painfully until the pulsing around his fingertips releases its clench. Oh her _face_ , her ecstatic, beautiful _face_ sends him reeling, a burst of pressure radiating inside of him and overflowing in spurts, building and releasing until there’s a sticky mess along her thighs.

 

“ _Shhhhhit_ ,” he pants, dropping a sweaty brow to her shoulder. “‘M sorry. I got you wet.”

 

She laughs, and he doesn’t realize why until a few seconds later, when he joins in. The recent euphoria is making it harder for his brain to catch up with the rest of him.

 

She brushes back his hair, trying to catch her breath, before pressing a sweet kiss to his brow. “I liked it, because I like _you_.” She plants faint kisses to his face, her nails gently tracing his back. Everything makes him feel a little twitchy, slightly drugged. He _loves_ this closeness, and nuzzles up higher to kiss her cheek, her lips. Not in a sexual way. Just... _this_.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“ _Good_. Really fucking good,” he sighs, stroking her arm. “You?”

 

“Amazing.” Her grin makes him laugh.

 

“Trying to one-up me, huh?”

 

They giggle into a new embrace until he has the sense to grab an old t-shirt and wipe her thighs, allowing them to cuddle a little more wholly before pretending to get back into their show, which has been on more as background than anything else.

 

“Do you wanna stay in here tonight? I mean, Archie washed his sheets, but I think we could probably both fit. If you want to. If it’s not too hot or weird or--”

 

“Jug.” She cups his cheek and waits until he stops rambling, her eyebrow quirking up in affection. “I'd love to stay with you.”

  
His face almost hurts from smiling so unnaturally wide.

They kiss regularly, the cravings never _quite_ abating unless they need a snack from the kitchenette. The day spins past in a haze of cuddles, chat, and outercourse until they pass out on his bed. It feels good, especially knowing that they’re _both_ happy. That the girl who shared food with him can also share his bed, her heart, her mind. And most recently, he muses with an extra little nuzzle, they can share  _this_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex isn't the end-all be-all of relationships, so I hope this fic showed that intimacy is beautiful even without it. But for that romantic relationship to be satisfying for these two in particular, that mutual desire had to be present as well as that emotional intimacy. I'm happy they can both have their orgasms and their friendship. WHAT A LOVE, RIGHT? Thanks for following along on this journey and I look forward to reading your thoughts. Have an amazing week!

**Author's Note:**

> I LOVE FEELINGS! Can I have some of yours? Or message me @lovedinapastlife on tumblr. Emojis, fav passages, flailing, conspiracy theories, general shenanigans of any kind usually make my heart warm and my fingers itch to write the next cute thing or long-winded responses. So? What did you think?
> 
> A thousand thank you's to my good pal Smudge for poking me into writing a demisexual Bughead fic where Betty's needs and interests are just as important as Jughead's. Also thanks for generally keeping me flailing in excitement.
> 
> Where would I be without bugggghead, this fic's cheerleader and graphic-maker extraordinaire? Seriously, you put things together in like two seconds and I still don't know what magic is required for that but I'm impressed.
> 
> Ok everyone. Let's eat. And love. Cheers!


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